Chapter Forty-Three
The lights of the city surrounded Jia like glittering jewels cascading across the soft, dark curtain of night. Twinkling neon from nearby buildings bathed her face in a crimson glow. She paid no attention to the lights, or the cool breeze blowing through her hair. Instead, she focused her gaze on a small circle of glass. A set of cross hairs hung over the blurry image on the other side.
She shifted her body in the cab of the tower crane. Then she adjusted the focus ring of the scope mounted above the AS VAL silenced assault rifle. The image became sharp and clear.
David Fang was in her sights.
She rested a finger just behind the laser sight mounted beneath the integrated silencer of the Russian-made rifle. Rather then the green daytime unit, this weapon was equipped with a crimson beam. Once she activated it, she knew her position would be compromised. For now, she kept the beam switched off. She would wait until the perfect moment. Then she would strike.
With smooth, precise movements, she tracked Fang from her perch in the control booth. The jib arm of the crane was only a few stories higher than Fang's mock throne room. It provided a perfect vantage point. Through her scope, she surveyed the terracotta statues and silk tapestries across the way. She watched as Fang lifted himself from his golden throne. He descended to greet Caine, leading him through his collection of artifacts like a smug, spoiled child.
The man was insane. She thought back to Baozhai, Alton’s niece. The little girl coughing blood back in Alton’s town. The poisoned water of the river, the tainted air. The black clouds of pollution billowing from Fang’s chemical factory …
Alton’s family had called Fang a jiangshi … a hungry ghost. A creature that drained the life energy of the world around it.
Jia didn't believe in ghosts.
She pictured Lian, somewhere dark, unfamiliar. Her daughter, scared, alone …
Her body tensed, and her finger began to tighten around the trigger of the rifle.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. No, she thought. Wait till he has Sean. You get Sean, you leave China, you go to Lian. That was her mission now.
She watched through the tiny scope as Fang and Caine talked. A woman joined them. Tall, dark-skinned, attractive. The Ministry kept detailed files on the various Triad factions. Jia recognized her immediately. Iris Yip, Fang’s girlfriend and advisor. According to the reports, Fang had murdered Iris’s husband, Sam Yip. It had happened in the midst of a brutal turf war during Fang's rise to power as a Lu Long Red Pole. Iris seemed to have taken up with Fang in the bloody aftermath of that power struggle. The two had been linked as lovers ever since.
Strange woman, Jia thought. Then again … She looked back at the things she had done, both in the line of duty and more recently, while compromised by Lapinski. She knew she was in no position to judge.
She shifted the rifle slightly. The guards inside wheeled a large platform towards Fang and Caine. The men yanked back the tarp, revealing a large metal cylinder and a mass of medical equipment, hoses, and air tanks.
Through the tiny circle of magnification she could see Caine. His jaw clenched, and his eyes glowered with rage. Whatever was in the strange-looking cylinder, it had clearly had an effect on him.
She adjusted the scope again and zoomed in on the glass window mounted to the front of the metal tube. The image came into focus. She could see Sean’s face, gasping for breath.
Gaisi! Bloody hell … This was not part of the plan.
She felt a tremor vibrate through the towering metal structure of the crane. She looked up from the rifle. Something was wrong. She sensed it.
Looking out the window, she saw lights gathering at the base of the narrow metal structure. They were flashing blue and red. A pair of spotlights beamed up at the crane.
Police … The Ministry!
Yong Jin. He had found her.
The vibrations intensified. A mechanical hum emitted from the long, narrow tower behind the booth. The noise grew louder … closer. It was the elevator. Men were ascending towards her position.
She bit her lip and thought for a moment. Shifting the rifle, she set the crosshairs over Fang’s head. She had her shot. Another quarter-pound of pressure on the trigger and the man would cease to exist. But would that stop the slow death of Huagu and countless other towns? Would that end little Baozhai’s suffering? Would it save Sean and bring her closer to her daughter?
As much as she hated to admit it, she knew the answer was no. She had to stick with the plan. Killing Fang accomplished nothing if Sean died as well.
The humming grew louder. The elevator had almost reached the top of the tower.
Moving with a sudden, rapid intensity, Jia dropped the rifle. She sprinted towards the cage-like shaft that ran down the crane's tower. She could see the tiny white elevator car accelerating up toward her. The car was an open cage, raised and lowered by a cable winch. The roof of the cage blocked her from the occupant’s view, but she knew her cover would only last a few more seconds.
She leapt up and grabbed one of the bars that formed the metal lattice of the tower. Pulling herself up, she balanced her feet on the bar and pushed off, landing on the top of the elevator's housing. As she spun around and dropped into a low crouch, she felt a thud beneath her. The humming and vibration stopped. The cage had reached the top of the tower.
She heard the doors clatter open. Two dark figures stalked out of the elevator. The metal catwalk that ran the length of the jib arm shook under their booted feet as they moved onto the crane. The men were dressed in tactical SWAT gear. They swept their QBZ-95 assault rifles left to right as they moved along the narrow walkway, hundreds of feet above the city lights.
As the men passed beneath her, Jia slipped out of her rappelling harness. She hefted a coil of rope over her shoulder. With quick, silent movements, she tossed the black silken cord up and over one of the metal bars of the tower. Then she linked a D2 Escape Descender belay to the edge of the housing. Her hands moved like lightning, threading the coil of rope through the belay. She adjusted the tension lever on the device and secured carabiner clamps to the ends of the rope.
Jia stood up, balancing on the edge of the elevator housing. She bellowed a fierce Qi He war cry. Martial artists performed the loud, dramatic vocalization to focus their energy during a strike. But in this case, she used the sudden burst of sound for another purpose. A distraction.
The SWAT officers spun around. Jia was already moving, flying through the air towards them. The twin trails of black rope spooled out behind her, invisible in the darkness. She crashed into the men, sliding between their bodies on the narrow catwalk.
As the men got their bearings, she leapt to her feet and circled around the man to her right. He spun around, tracking her movements with the barrel of his rifle. She darted in close, ducking down below the firing line of the rifle. As the officer brought the rifle to bear, his body blocked the other man from her view.
Jia’s hands shot up over her head and grabbed the barrel, pushing it up into a forty-five-degree angle. The SWAT officer pulled the trigger. Muzzle flash erupted from the rifle, and the rapid crackling of weapon fire filled the air. She felt the heat of the gunfire through her black gloves. The shots passed harmlessly overhead, sparking off the metal bars of the crane.
Jia removed her left hand from the rifle and lunged forward. She slapped one of the carabiners onto the officer’s tactical harness. Continuing the motion, she sliced her free hand down, driving it into the man’s wrist with a powerful chop.
She felt his grip loosen on the butt of the rifle. Her left hand wrapped around the stock of the weapon. She yanked down on the stock and pushed the barrel forward. The tip of the weapon slammed into the officer’s face. His helmet protected him from the force of the blow, but the rapid attack kept him off balance.
Tearing the rifle from his grip, Jia swung it through the air. The stock slammed into the officer’s head, and he stumbled sideways. Grabbing his ha
rness, Jia pulled him towards her. She drew a small .380 pistol from her shoulder holster. Using him as a shield, Jia slipped her shooting arm under his shoulder. She took aim at the other SWAT officer and fired.
She sent three shots into the heavy Kevlar vest that covered the man’s chest. She knew the small caliber bullets would not penetrate his armor, but the concussive impact of the shots kept him from drawing a bead on her with his rifle.
Her human shield grunted and began to struggle. Pulling away, he swung his right hand towards her, but she ducked under the blow. Looping her right arm around his neck, she pivoted her body. The momentum of his punch carried his weight over her hips.
The man uttered a frantic scream as she launched him over the edge of the crane. His body plummeted into the darkness. His cries were drowned out by the rapid hiss of rope whistling through the belay pulley.
Without pausing for breath, Jia dropped to the ground as the other officer fired. The bullets screamed overhead, but she was already spinning her legs in a powerful sweep. Her feet struck the remaining SWAT officer in the ankle. He crashed to the floor.
Jia looped the other end of the rope around his leg. With a click, she anchored it with the other carabiner, then sprang to her feet. She sprinted towards the crane’s cab as the man lumbered to his feet.
He opened fire, sending a barrage of bullets ricocheting across the catwalk. The flashing bursts of gunfire looked like fireflies in the dark, night sky.
Jia dove into the tiny cab and rolled into a crouch. The officer aimed his rifle at her through the window of the cab. Before he could fire, a sharp crack echoed through the air.
The falling officer, the man Jia had thrown over the edge, was acting as a counterweight. His momentum pulled the rope taut. The line screamed through the belay pulley, yanking the second officer into the air. The man uttered a confused cry as he was pulled up into the structure of the crane. He hung upside, swaying from the metal bar like a pendulum, his arms and legs gyrating through the air.
Jia spun towards the elevator housing. The cage was no longer there. It had descended to the base of the tower.
More men would be coming.
She had to move her position. She had to help Caine. They had to rescue Sean.
She had to get to Lian.
Her eyes hardened. She pressed a large red button on the control panel of the cab. It lit up, and a buzzing siren echoed through the air. Orange warning lights flooded the booth with a warm glow as they spun to life.
She threw a series of levers on the panel. An alarm bell rang out, cutting through the droning buzz of the siren. The crane’s slewing unit groaned to life. The motor churned, turning the massive gears that attached the jib arm to the tower base. She felt the floor of the cab shudder as it began to move.
She grabbed her rifle and darted out of the tiny control room. Her feet clanged across the metal catwalk as she charged away from the cab, towards the far end of the crane.
As she ran, the long jib arm swung through the air. It spun closer and closer towards the delicate glass and metal skeleton of the Fang Plaza building.
Chapter Forty-Four
Caine looked Fang in the eye. Behind them, Sean continued to pound on the glass of his cylindrical prison. The hissing sound of the compressor filled the room. As each second ticked by, it sucked more oxygen from the tube.
Caine held the case out to Fang. “Fine,” he said. “Take it.”
The handsome man stared at the slim silver box for a second, but he did not reach for it. Iris slinked over to Caine and wrapped her long, delicate fingers around the case. She slid it from his grip.
“Xie xie,” she said, giving him a slight bow. Fang pressed a button on the tiny remote in his hands, and the compressors stopped. There was a hiss as oxygen began to flow back into the hyperbaric tube.
“Pray this works, Mr. Caine. If it does not, I swear I will make you watch as your friend dies, gasping for breath. Like a fish out of water.”
“That’s the key, Fang. I held up my end of the bargain. Now let Sean go.”
Iris walked over to the bank of computers and handed the case to Tan. Fang gave Caine a lingering stare, then turned to Tan. “You have what you need? Check it to be sure. We can afford no more mistakes.”
Tan opened the case and disconnected the tiny USB stick from the microprocessor inside. He inserted it into one of the computers. Caine watched as the familiar stream of code began to flash across the monitors.
Tan nodded. “Looks good. Booting up TANGENT now.”
He connected a rugged blue hard drive to a cable and checked a series of settings on another of his monitors.
“What is this all about, Fang?” Caine asked. “What’s your connection to Sun Wai Tong?”
Fang did not look away from the information on the monitors. “Who?” He turned and flashed Caine an innocent grin. “Oh, you mean that pitiful hacker the NSA has in their custody? To be honest, I’ve never even met the man.”
Tan looked up, but did not stop tapping on the keys of his computer setup. “Butao rang wo faxiao,” he barked. “Don’t make me laugh. Sun Wai is an amateur. His skills are nothing compared to the lowest member of my unit. Why the Ministry would work with a baichi like that, I have no idea.”
Caine thought for a moment. The pieces of the puzzle swirled in his mind. Lapinski, Sean, Fang … and now this man, Tan. A disgruntled cyber-warrior, in deep to Fang’s Lu Long Triad. They all orbited around this mysterious program, an enigma that drew them together … TANGENT.
Then it clicked. The missing piece, the corrupted bit of data. An assumption that had been wrong from the start.
“Sun Wai didn’t hack the NSA server, did he?” Caine said. “Tan did. And to cover his tracks, he ran TANGENT from inside the system. He used it to implicate Sun Wai Tong. He was a known state-sponsored hacker. The FBI already had his profile in their cyber-crime database.”
Fang clapped. “Very good, Mr. Caine. You’re several steps ahead of your own government’s intelligence agencies.”
“This whole time, they’ve been interrogating the wrong man,” Caine continued. “They’re looking for a connection that doesn’t exist.”
Fang gestured to the array of computer equipment. “Tan discovered the existence of TANGENT during one of Unit 61398’s probes into NSA servers. He brought it to me, along with other information he thought I might find … valuable.”
Caine turned away from Fang and wandered over to another display case. The glass box was filled with a circular array of small, pointed daggers arranged on a cushion of red silk. “Other information? You mean the file that shows you were a CIA plant at Tiananmen?”
Fang stood on the other side of the case. He ignored Caine’s question and looked down at the slim, ancient weapons. “These are Fei Dao … flying knives.” He pointed to a weapon with an elegant, curved blade, and a thick, polished wood handle. “This one was favored by Chinese soldiers during the Ming and Qing Dynasties. It was known as the Willow Leaf Knife due to the shape of its blade.”
He looked up at Caine. “China took my father from me and destroyed my home. They struck the first blow against me and my family. But it was the United States CIA that twisted the knife in my back.”
“Yeah, welcome to the party,” Caine replied, glancing at the chipped metal blades.
Fang waved a dismissive hand towards Caine. “Yes, I know you were betrayed as well. You know what they are capable of. After the tragedy, my mother and I moved to Beijing. She got a job at a fabric mill. All she wanted to do was put the past behind us. But I was still bitter. Angry. I was perfect fodder for the Beijing Spring movement. Revolution was in the air. To be honest, I cared little about democracy or reform. All I wanted to do was hurt those in power and strike back at the men who had hurt my family.”
“Didn’t work out that way, did it?” Caine asked.
“Of course not. I spouted their propaganda. I marched with my allies across campus and studied the pamphlets passed ou
t by the CIA-backed Student Organization. And on June 3rd, I threw firebombs at Type 59 Battle Tanks when the party declared martial law in the city. I helped set fire to buses parked across the bridge at Muzidi, to slow the army’s march towards the square. And I fled as the soldiers opened fire. They inflicted heavy casualties, and the civilians on-site became enraged. They fought back with rocks, sticks, anything they could get their hands on. The massacre had begun.”
Caine looked over Fang’s shoulder. Something outside caught his eye. Outside the bank of windows at the end of the room, he saw something moving. A black shape, barely visible in the darkness, swung towards the building. Fang and his men didn't see it. They were facing Caine, looking away from the windows.
He gave the case of knives a nonchalant glance, then turned his attention back to Fang. “You're talking about Operation Canary, right?”
“Yes, ridiculous name. I don’t know if the goal was to promote democracy, or force the PRC into an embarrassing act of bloodshed. But either way, the fuse was lit. I fled from the scene and met my mother at the rendezvous point my CIA contact had provided. The final phase of the operation involved smuggling dissidents like myself out of the country, through Hong Kong.”
Iris walked over to them and spread her bamboo sticks across the surface of the glass case. She began to murmur and chant.
“So what happened?” Caine said. He risked a quick glance at the window. Fang's attention seemed focused on Iris’s long, jade-tipped fingers. She raked her nails across the rows of I-Ching sticks.
“I have no idea,” Fang said, his voice low and gravelly. “We stood waiting outside an abandoned cafe. It was a meeting place other students and I had used to distribute propaganda pamphlets. We waited for hours, huddled in the darkness like jilted brides at a rotting altar. No one came for us. History says the CIA smuggled over four hundred dissidents out of Beijing that night. But they left me and my family there alone, helpless. They left us there to die.”
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